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Post by bretf on Nov 18, 2016 10:39:28 GMT -6
Note: The characters in this short story are from “The Ashen Horse”. I have not included any back story here, so it may not make sense if you are not already familiar with these characters.
Special thanks to JKHS for the help!
A Letter From Chad
Nick Robbins saw the horse and rider on the Little Weiser River Road approaching his family’s home, and walked up the driveway to intercept him. The rider got closer, and Nick was able to recognize him under his heavy coat and hat; it was Brian Sparks. It didn’t take a lot to figure out where he was going. Poor Brian had been smitten.
Nick flashed him a grin as Brian reined his horse to a stop. “Hey Brian, it’s kind of cold to be out for a ride. Let me guess. You’re going to see Brooke. Or is it Alison?” Nick asked.
“Hey Nick, yeah I am,” Brian answered.
“Well, which one?” Nick asked. “Brooke or Ali?”
Brian turned red and said, “Ya know, I’m not really sure. You know how they are Nick. They mess with me so much, that my head’s spinning whenever I’m around them. They’re always switching up on me, and for the life of me, I’m not sure which one I like the best. Or which is which, for that matter.”
“Well, which one kisses the best?” Nick asked, grinning even more.
Brian’s face burned red. “I’m not sure about that either,” he said.
“Well, have a good time with whichever one of them you end up visiting,” Nick said.
“I sure hope to have a good time, if we have any time afterwards, anyway. It all depends, I guess. But if I do get some private time with one of them, I’m glad my horse knows his way home. My head will be spinning, for sure then,” Brian said.
“What do you mean?” Nick asked. “If you have time after what? What does it depend on?”
Brian tapped his chest. “I’ve got a letter here for the family. It was brought over from Cambridge yesterday afternoon. It’s from Chad and Carol,” Brian said. “I didn’t have time to take it up to them then, so I’m going up there this morning,”
“What? You have a letter with you from my best friend, and you didn’t come right out and tell me? I should knock you off your horse and teach you some manners,” Nick said.
Brian shrugged and said, “See, I told you they make my head spin. And that’s just from thinking about them.”
“Oh Brian, you’re sad, dude. They’ve seen your weakness, so you’ll never stand a chance with them, and you won’t even know which end is up once you get up to their place. Well, come down to the house while I see if Lori wants to go, and then I’ll saddle my horse and go with you,” Nick ordered. “I want to hear what Chad wrote, you know.” He turned around and trotted back to the ranch house to tell his wife what was going on, and see if she wanted to go with him. Sometimes she did, sometimes she didn’t. It turned out she didn’t, she’d rather stay in the warm house. But she insisted Nick tell her what was in the letter later.
As Nick and Brian rode up the Little Weiser Road, Nick asked, “So, did he use an envelope, and is there any indication of where it came from?” Nick was hoping it was just loose papers so he could read it while they rode. Sometimes that’s how Chad’s letters arrived.
Brian knew exactly what he was alluding to. “Yeah, it’s in a sealed envelope, so you can’t read it before we give it to his parents,” Brian said. “And there’s nothing saying where it came from.”
“Dang! I miss the postmark, from the old days. I wonder where they are . . .” Nick said. They rode on, Nick teasing Brian about the twins as they went. He sure wished he could open the letter and read it while they rode, but he knew he better not. It seemed the horses moved in slow motion, and it took way too long before the Smoke – Gomez home in the side of the hill came into view.
The dogs, Lindy and Cricket, ran up and barked at them, not quieting until Nick spoke and they recognized the two riders. Then they switched to wagging their tails, Cricket squirming all over. Lindy turned and ran back to the shed. Watching her go and stop beside a man there, Nick noticed Mat for the first time, with the family’s third dog lying near him. Perro-Feo was having a hard time getting around, and didn’t hear well. But she still accompanied Mat or the girls around the home site on occasion, albeit at a slow pace.
They had to get a lot closer before Nick figured out what Mat was doing, and then it became clear. A large wild turkey was suspended from a rafter of the lean-to, and there was a pile of feathers on the ground beneath it.
“Hi Mat, been hunting, I see,” Nick said.
“Yep, it wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without turkey, would it? Hi Brian, how are you?” Mat said.
“Thanksgiving?” Nick asked.
“Hi Mat,” Brian said.
Mat chuckled and said, “Yeah, Thanksgiving is tomorrow, according to our calendar. We might be off a day or two off after all this time, but we’ve kept a pretty good calendar ever since That Day.”
“That Day”: the day that Russia and the United States had destroyed each other with nuclear weapons. Combined with the smallpox pandemic, it had shattered most all modern civilization.
“Well the timing is perfect then,” Brian said, and tapped his chest. “I have a letter here from Chad and Carol. It was dropped off at our place yesterday afternoon.”
Mat’s hands froze for an instant, and then he rubbed them together, brushing a few feathers off them. “Why didn’t you say so? It’s cold enough out here, this bird can wait. Tie your horses and let’s get in the house.”
In only a few minutes, everyone was settled around the house, Nick, Brian and Mat all with steaming mugs of rose hip tea in their hands. Hope sat next to her dad, as anxious as everyone else to hear the letter, even though she didn’t remember her uncle Chad.
Heather cleared her throat, and started to read.
Spring 2026
Hi everyone. I hope you’re all doing fine. We’re doing well, all THREE of us. Mom and Dad, I hope you’re sitting down, because you’re grandparents now. We have a beautiful son, named John, for Carol’s dad. Carol was worried, that maybe the pox had done something to her, but he’s perfect! Sorry we can’t send pictures, but check out the sketches on the other paper.
Heather looked at the second slip of paper in her hand, at the line sketch of a woman holding a baby. Whoever had drawn it had a great eye for detail. Carol was easily recognizable, although her features were those of a woman, not the girl any of them had last seen. She looked down at the bundle in her arms, enrptured. The baby had a puckered up face like he wanted his mother to turn him around and feed him, rather than hold him for the sketch artist.
Lisa took the sketch, sniffed, and cooed, “Oh he’s gorgeous!”
Brooke and Alison looked over her shoulder at the drawing, then at each other and shrugged. “They must be someplace where’s it’s hot. That kid looks like he just ate a lemon,” Brooke said.
“Brooke, he’s beautiful,” Lisa admonished. She turned the paper over, and there was another sketch, just of John, peacefully sleeping. The image blurred as her eyes flooded with tears. She held the paper out to Dan before she messed the paper up.
The paper was passed from person to person, and Heather started reading again.
We’re not sure when we’ll make it make home yet, but we don’t think we’ll go any further east from here. We’re in Minnesota now, and you wouldn’t believe it. There’s water everywhere; lakes, ponds, marshes. Nothing like home. It’s a lot flatter, too, though there are rolling hills like we had close to our old home. But where our hills were dry and bare, the ones here are covered with hardwood forests. So it’s really pretty in the fall. That’s when we got here, and had to stay because of the baby on the way. But in winter, it’s mostly white.
Because of all the water, they eat a lot of fish here, a lot more than we did at home. And they fish all year round here. The area we’re at was a good distance from the cities, so didn’t have too much trouble during the bad times. Some though. There are lots of family farms, so it feels a lot like home, although it took a while for them to trust us. Each little town around here has their own traditions, depending on where the original immigrants came from. It’s pretty educational. We’ve learned a lot about the different groups: Norwegians, Swedes, Germans, Finnish people. That’s sure different than home. Because of that, there’re different accents than at home, but they say Carol and I are the ones with the accents, LOL. But everyone we’ve met are real good, hard working people. But you have to be now, or you can’t make it. Well except for a lot of the leeches that have taken over in some of the cities. So we always avoid cities. Everything we hear, the cities are bad. It’s terrible how some people are. You’d think between the pox and the nukes and starvation, enough people had died, but I guess not.
Mat, you were right to have us take your air rifle. It’s hard to come up with ammo for the AK, so we use the air rifle most of the time now. A lot of people use bows now too, mostly homemade ones. There was a fair here, and they had a shooting contest. I used the rifle, and came in third. Some of those guys are amazing. A guy showed me how to make a long bow, so I made two, and Carol and I have been learning to shoot them while we’re here. It never hurts to have different weapons out here.
When we leave here, we’ll most likely swing to the south, before we start back towards home. You know, I’ve wanted to see the Ozarks ever since reading “Where the Red Fern Grows”. If we don’t see that area now, we probably never will. I’ve heard that area fared decently too. Well, I’m about out of room on this paper. We’ll write again when we can.
Love you all, Chad, Carol and John.
Mat was quiet, thinking about what Chad didn’t say. It was troubling, to think of them out there, especially with a new baby, so far from home, and the cities infested with “leeches”. The stories they heard from the rare traveler made it seem like too many parts of the country should be avoided. Maybe he should have tried to prevent them from leaving in the first place. But there was no going back, so all he could do was hope they stayed safe.
Brooke broke the reverie. “I’m going outside. Are you coming Ali? What about you Brian?”
Red faced, Brian said, “Sure I’ll go outside.”
Lisa watched the three of them go outside, and walk down the trail to the shed.
Mat stood and smiled, and said, “Hope, do you want to help me finish cleaning that bird. We have even more to be thankful for now.”
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Note: When I finished “The Ashen Horse”, I had good intentions of doing something like this every now and then. I got a little bit of this thrown together, then set it aside. I’ve been deep into a re-write of the story. I’ve been so wrapped up in the first part of the story that when I came back to this, I found it very hard, getting back into the characters at this time frame.
One thing about the re-write, I’ve started with the twins three years older. As I did the original, there were parts that involve them that I really wanted them a little older for. I applied their additional age to this short story. I wanted the part with them, but didn’t want too many years to have passed. Someday, if everything works, I’d like to bring Chad home, but not have too many years pass in his travels before then. We’ll see I guess.
As hard as it was to get my head back into this stage of the story, I’m not sure if I’ll do more of these or not. It will depend on the re-write, and how deep I am into the characters at that stage.
THANK YOU FOR READING! AND HAPPY THANKSGIVING!
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Post by headlesshorseman on Nov 18, 2016 18:00:09 GMT -6
thank you Bret.
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Post by 9idrr on Nov 18, 2016 20:15:05 GMT -6
Nice surprise. Thanks, and feel free to drop these once a month or so. We won't mind a bit.
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Post by pbbrown0 on Nov 20, 2016 21:05:21 GMT -6
Thank you, Bret. Your writing is deeply appreciated. It takes nothing more than a brief letter episode like this to prove that all of the characters are still very much 'alive' in the hearts of your readers.
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Post by bretf on Dec 14, 2016 13:09:17 GMT -6
Thanks you all for the nice comments. You know, I wasn’t planning on doing another one of these for a while, but oh well . . .
A letter from Chad – Christmas Edition
Chad Smoke peered into the swirling snow, searching for movement in the white landscape, but unable to detect any in the muted gray light. Snowflakes landed on his face, in his eyes, making him squint into the gloom. He shifted his position slightly, trying not to dislodge the snow that had accumulated on his poncho. The more that covered him, the less he’d stand out, and he didn’t want to stand out, he needed to blend in with the landscape, even though it would be full dark soon. The raiders he and the other men were pursuing were sure to have watchers out, so he would have to stay alert, and rely on everything Mat had taught him, as well as what he’d picked up after he and Carol started drifting.
Drifting from one place to another, always drifting; and his mind drifted. He and Carol were just drifting with the wind. Just like the snowflakes that were drifting in the wind. It felt like that was what they had done ever since Rory Young had attacked her, and set them on their path. It had taken some time, but Carol had eventually returned to her old self, and told Chad everything that had happened. He was infuriated, even though he’d already been certain Rory was at the heart of it, and he wanted to turn around right then; to go back home and end it with that slime, once and for all. But just the mention of going home put Carol right back into her depression. So they drifted further, while he fantasized about the day he returned home, and all the things he’d do to Rory. The things he’d learned on Nick’s ranch watching Al with his sharp knife working the bull calves in the spring, would be a good place to start. But that would only be the start. Next, he’d . . .
But no, that was something Rory would do, and he wouldn’t lower himself that much, not to that level. Instead he’d find Rory and confront him face to face. And kill him and be done with it. Just like he would have to do if they were able to overtake the band of raiders they were following. Chad squinted back into the snow, trying to keep his mind on task.
But it was hard, so hard to stay focused as he waited for Larry Cooper to return. Coop had scouted ahead, while Chad stayed with the three villagers he and Coop had accompanied into the storm. He found it hard, nearly impossible, to stay focused, while Carol and John were back at the village many miles away and he was away from them, out in the storm. He prayed silently that they were safe. It tore him apart leaving them there, while he went after the raiders. What if the raiders had counted on pursuit, and had more men hiding and waiting for the village to be even more vulnerable? He didn’t think it would happen, but he couldn’t shake the thought once it had come to him. So he prayed that they were safe, and that Coop would return soon with positive news.
Soft sounds behind him drew his attention, snow being compressed under feet, steady footballs, not those of someone trying to sneak, or rushing him. Continuing to look into the falling snow, he waited until the man stopped beside him.
“Hey Smoke, we’ve got some food and drink warmed up back in the hollow,” the man said softly in his ear. “Go down and get some, and I’ll stay here and watch.”
“Thanks,” Chad said, equally quiet. “I haven’t seen anything move out there but snowflakes.” He turned, glad to not be looking into the wind with its ever-present snow any longer, and followed in the man’s tracks to the hollow where the others waited. As he moved along, he was pleased that he didn’t see the flame or smell the smoke from the men’s fire. They were well versed in staying hidden. By the time he reached them, the tracks he was following had accumulated a good amount of snow. Hopefully, Coop wouldn’t lose the trail, and would be able to get back to them without problems.
A well-tanned animal skin was set up as a lean to, keeping the wind off the men and their small fire. A pile of brush on the other side of the fire reflected some of the heat back towards them. Chad knocked the snow free from his poncho and removed it. The he settled into the open space and one of the men held a tin cup out for him. He wrapped his mittened hands around the cup. The heat sent pinpricks of sensation through his cold fingers, and he sipped, the liquid bitter with chicory root. “Thanks Ted,” he said.
“See anything out there Smoke?” Ted asked.
“No, nothing’s moving in this storm,” Chad answered.
The second man turned the stick he held towards Chad, a piece of seared meat on the end of it. The grease from the mutton ran down Chad’s chin when he ripped a bite off with his teeth. He wiped it with the back of a mitten and chewed in silence.
“Well, I’m gonna try for a little shut eye then,” Ted said, and bent his head over and closed his eyes. The other man glanced at him, and decided he had the right idea, and closed his own eyes.
Chad ate the meat and drank the chicory coffee in silence, relishing the heat, and still thinking about Carol and John. When he was finished, he stared out into the storm, while soft snores echoed in the shelter from the other two men. He envied them in a way, able to sleep, despite what they faced. They’d pushed hard, and desperately needed the rest, considering they’d soon be in a fight to the death. It amazed him how accustomed they seemed to what was coming, to raids and skirmishes. It was just another day to them. It had become acutely obvious the further he and Carol drifted how well they had it back home. It was a harsh world and had become increasingly dangerous the farther they went from the Rocky Mountains.
He continued to look into the storm, unable to shut his mind off so he could also nod off. Carol, John and what he faced overwhelmed his thoughts. What if he didn’t survive? What would happen to Carol and John, out here, so far from home? Alone.
If he made it back to the village, he’d have to do whatever it took to convince her it was time to go home. At least if something happened to him there, she would still have the rest of the family to help her. Here, he was afraid of what would happen to her and John if he was gone. Whatever it took. “Oh Carol,” he murmured. “I’m so afraid something’s going to happen, and you’ll be left on your own.”
Digging into an inner pocket, he pulled out a stub of a pencil and some folded papers. The fire was small, but it cast enough light for his purposes. Smoothing the paper out the best he could, he wrote,
My Dearest Carol,
If I don’t return from this mission, I needed to make sure you know how I feel about you, since I sometimes have trouble expressing my feelings. But here goes. You’ve made my life whole, and I love you more every day, more than anything. I want nothing more than to spend my life with you, doing everything I can to make you happy.
To see your lovely face light up in a smile, I can’t help but smile as well. I love to wake up beside you, see you sleeping, peaceful. Love to see you, and hear you sing the old songs, that special moment when one of your dad’s songs touches you. I want to comfort you, to protect you, and to always be there for you. If I don’t make it back, I want you to know that, and that I’ve always loved you.
I want to be with you, step by step and hand in hand, as John grows up, under your loving care.
Chad looked at the paper, wanting to say so much more, but not able to come up with anything. Maybe something else would come to him. He put another paper on top of the one he’d been working on, and started another letter, one to his family, so far away they might as well be on another world.
Merry Christmas everyone, though this letter won’t get to you anywhere around Christmas, but maybe it will by next one. I hope you’re all well. It’s cold here, and I’m really missing the wood stove, and how comfortable the house always was in winter. You know the song, “White Christmas”? We sure have one here. It’s a literal white-out.
He stopped writing, and like always when he wrote, considered how much he should tell them. His mom was sure to be worried, and he didn’t want to add more to it, if he could help it. But the feeling of dread wouldn’t leave him, the feeling that the encounter he was facing wasn’t going to end well. He put the pencil back to the paper.
I’m helping out some of the people at the village we’ve been staying at. Some of the folks got lost, and a small party of us are looking for them in a snow storm. The locals tell me it’s not a blizzard, but from my point of view, it can’t be far from it.
Of course it was a big exaggeration, the part about people getting lost. Four women and six kids had been taken by raiders, slavers most likely. He thought about his dad's story he told every year at Christmas, and the "Christmas in the Trenches" that John McCutcheon had written the touching song about. It felt something like that, like a form of trench warfare, but he didn't think this night would end with an impromptu soccer game. He refocused on the paper.
I should say I don’t just miss the stove. I miss home, and all of you. Very much. I’m hoping that. . .
He caught himself just before he wrote “If I get back”.
When I get back to the village I can to convince Carol we have to head home, and try to start that way when the weather is good enough to travel. I –
Snow crunched outside the lean to, and Chad cursed himself for being so wrapped up in his thoughts that someone had approached him unknown. Plus, his vision was shot from the firelight. Scrunching the letters in his left hand, he stared into the blackness while he wrapped his hands around his rifle.
“You aren’t plannin’ on shootin’ us are you Chad?” came Larry Cooper’s easy drawl.
“It crossed my mind,” Chad said when his breathing was under control. “But I guess I better not.” He flattened the papers and folded them, then put them and the pencil in his breast pocket.
Coop stepped into the circle of light cast by the fire, followed by the man that had relieved Chad. He nudged the two sleeping men, and with everyone paying attention, he told them what he’d found, and accompanied it with a rough diagram in the snow.
“They’ve got pretty good location, in a low spot with a bunch of trees. They met up with another group, so we’re looking at tough odds here. But the good thing, they think the storm will hide them. They only set one guard out, and I watched him have a number of pulls from a flask before I left. Now here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll move into positon in the dark, and hit them at first light when you can see just well enough to hit what you’re shooting at. I’ll go . . .” Coop laid out his plan, marking the location for each of the four men around the raider’s camp and explaining everyone’s role.
Chad was mute watching and listening. He didn’t know all of Coop’s background, but he’d once said he had been part of a team that had to do wet work from time to time before the world went to hell. Chad didn’t ask for any details on what that meant, but after being around him for a while, decided that Mat seemed like an altar boy in comparison.
It was obvious they couldn’t allow the men they were pursuing to live, but he couldn’t feel comfortable with Coop’s plan. It was definitely a harsh world, and he longed for spring and the snowmelt, so he could get Carol and John on the road for home. He had to get back home before this kind of thing hardened him so much that what they were about to do failed to bother him any longer.
“Any questions?” Coop asked and looked at each of the men. When none came, he said, “All right then. We’ll rest here another three hours, then pack up and move out.”
While the men settled back under their lean-to cover, Chad pulled Larry Cooper aside. “Coop, we’ve been together for a while, and I think I can trust you. You’ve been talking about getting back to Yakima, so well, I’ve got a bad feeling about this, and I want you to do something for me.”
Cooper kept silent. He’d heard it all before, when some of the younger men went into a tough battle. And sometimes their gut feel turned out right, but sometimes it didn’t.
“So, anyway, if I don’t make it back from here, I want you to take Carol and John home for me, back to Idaho, to Indian Valley,” Chad said.
Chad had described his home often enough, Coop wouldn’t mind seeing it. But he wasn’t going to tell Chad that just yet. He needed reassurance at the moment. “You’ll do good Chad. You’ve got a dang good head on your shoulders, and you’ve got some fine skills. You don’t have anything to worry about.”
Chad reached into his pocket and pulled out the papers and held them up. “Please Coop, it feels wrong to me. Promise me you’ll take care of them. And give them these letters,” Chad pleaded.
Cooper wrapped one of his hands around Chad’s, the one with the papers. “You can give those papers to Carol yourself, but IF something happens to you, I’d be glad to take care of them for you, and get your family back home where it’s safe,” he said. “Now put those in your pocket. We need to get some rest before it’s time to move out.”
Chad studied Coop’s face, a nearly impossible task in the lack of light, and then did as he was told.
*****
Even though Chad had traveled with Larry Cooper for some time, he was amazed at what he witnessed. The man was a silent shadow, moving from bedroll to bedroll, his long bladed knife, making short work of the sleeping shapes. Chad was amazed and aghast at the same time at the quiet efficiency. A shadow moved off to his right, one of the men he was with, apparently wanting to be part of the action. Chad was glad for the muted light of the early morning, sure he would be sick if he could see everything clearly. Coop’s knife flashed, and he moved on to the next bedroll.
When pandemonium erupted in the camp, it was from the last place Chad would have expected. Coop passed too close to one of the captives, and his shrill shriek of terror rang through the silent morning. Chad saw another man with a rifle jump up, and hesitated for a moment. What if it was Carol down there, or Alison or Brooke? He centered his sights on the man and squeezed the trigger. Moving the rifle to the next man, he squeezed off another round, and did it again, and again. Looking at the rifle in alarm, he saw he’d emptied his magazine, and everyone in the encampment was down, except for Coop and the shrieking captive.
“HOLD YOUR FIRE!” Coop yelled, his command voice stopping the other men that had accompanied him. “IT’S DONE!” he added.
Chad shook his head, trying to clear his mind, and focus. After he had a fresh magazine in his rifle, he rose, and approached the camp slowly. It took all of his willpower to keep moving forward, and not stop and vomit. Bodies were strewn everywhere, the fresh snow stained bright red with blood. He didn’t want to consider how many were the result of his bullets. A foul stench hung in the air as bodily fluids were released, and that idiot would not stop shrieking. The snow had stopped falling, and the morning sun seemed unnaturally bright, reflecting off the surrounding white. He wished that fool would stop shrieking! If he didn’t stop, Chad was ready to thump him.
Still dazed from everything, he neared the camp, intent on shutting that idiot up. As he got close, a man on the ground rose up, bright red blood running from a gash on his head, his rifle in his hands. He raised the rifle, turning the barrel towards Coop. Chad aimed his own rifle at the man and pulled the trigger. Despite the shrieking, he clearly heard the click as the round in the chamber didn’t fire. He threw himself at Coop, and felt searing pain as he knocked Larry aside, and fell to the ground.
“SMOKE!” someone yelled, over the answering gunfire, and mercifully, the shrieking stopped.
“What? What did you say?” The shrieker asked as Ted knocked him aside running to Chad.
“Smoke, are you all right?” Ted asked, kneeling in the snow beside him. Ted had to pull Chad’s right arm away from his chest, where it was clamped over a growing red stain on his coat.
“Why did you call him Smoke? That’s my last name,” the shrieker said. He’d gotten to his feet and looked in wonder at Ted and Chad.
Ted ignored him and opened Chad’s coat and shirt. A nasty gash of torn flesh crossed Chad’s chest, and there was a hole on each side of his upper arm. Blood was flowing freely, but Ted thought the brachial artery and the bone had been missed.
“Smoke is my last name,” the man behind Ted repeated. “I’m Howie Smoke. Is his name Smoke too? Is it his first name or last name?”
“Find me something for a dressing,” Ted ordered. “I need to slow this bleeding.” Howie Smoke stood motionless.
Larry Cooper held out a piece of cloth, none too sanitary, and Ted took it and covered the wound in the chest. Cooper kept an eye on the rest of the raiders, and didn’t see anyone else moving. He ripped a piece of shirt from a still body and handed it to Ted.
“Are you going to take us home? I want to go home,” Howie Smoke said.
Coop leveled his gaze at Howie, and stated, “If you don’t shut your trap, I’m going to shut it for you.”
“But I just want –”. He didn’t complete the sentence. Instead, he found himself on his butt in the snow, rubbing the side of his face where Coop hit him.
Coop barked orders to the other two men, and then looked back at Ted. “What do you think?” he asked.
“He’s going to hurt, but he’ll live. We’ll have to sew him up when we get back home,” Ted said.
“I’ve got a sewing kit in my pack. Might as well do it here, before the real shock of it wears off,” Coop said.
Chad couldn’t imagine what it would have felt like later, since it hurt like hades as it was. After Coop smeared some foul smelling goo on his wounds and started sewing, he wanted to scream every time the needle pierced him. In an attempt at distraction, he looked at the fool that had alerted the raiders, and through clenched teeth, said, “So, you’re last name’s Smoke huh? Mine too. Where you from?” He grimaced and groaned, as Larry stuck the needle in him again and pulled the thread through.
“I’m from Chicago, well, I was before, you know,” Howie said.
Chad twisted his face at another stick of the needle. “Really,” he hissed. “My dad had a brother in Chicago, Del Smoke.”
Howie’s eyes lit up for a moment, and a look of sadness replaced it. “My dad was Del Smoke, but I’m pretty sure he died from the nuke. Are you Dan Smoke’s kid? That would make you my cousin.”
Chad groaned, loud, and it wasn’t only from the needle going into his raw flesh. This fool was his cousin? Oh Lord, now he really wanted to get away from there and go home.
Chad’s shirt pocket was covered in blood, and Coop pointed at it. “I’m not sure Chad, but you might not want to give that letter to Carol, the way it looks from here,” he said.
With his good hand, Chad fished the papers out, soaked in his blood. “You’re probably right. When you’re done there, we need to throw this in the fire.”
*****
Carol saw Chad’s arm secured in place and the stains on his coat the moment the group got through the compound gate. Her face turned white, matching the snow, and her hand flew to her mouth. Heedless of everything else, she ran to him. “Chad, you’re hurt!”
Involuntarily, he flinched expecting a hug, but she held back. “Yeah, I am. And Carol, I can’t handle this anymore. We’ve got to go home.” He’d tell her about his new shadow, Howie later. That story could wait. This couldn’t. “This is just too much for me. I’m afraid if we stay, I’ll get jaded and callous to all of it. I don’t want to go kill a bunch of guys like it was just business as usual.” His face twisted with pain, and it wasn’t from his wounds. “The people here, they’re used to it, but I don’t want that. It tears me up inside. And what if this had been worse? If that bullet had hit me two inches further over . . . you and John . . . Carol, let’s go home.”
She studied him, the torn coat, stained dark from his blood. The arm immobilized in front of him. More revealing was the torment and anguish written all over his face. “All right Chad. As soon as the snow is gone and we can travel, let’s head for home,” she said, and wrapping her arm around his good side, walked with him to their hut.
______________________________________________________
I’d like to extend wishes, from my family and the Smoke and Gomez families, as we all celebrate another Christmas, and rejoice in the reason for the season. May you all be safe and your life be filled with joy and happiness, and may each new day bring you moments to cherish.
Bret
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Post by 9idrr on Dec 14, 2016 22:10:51 GMT -6
Thank you, Bret, for the early Xmas gift. This twist makes me think you've got lots more up your sleeve. Here's hopin' that Santa brings you and yours as much pleasure as you've provided us here with you writing.
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Post by pbbrown0 on Dec 15, 2016 21:50:24 GMT -6
Thank you again, and again, and again, Brett. You are a master at getting your readers to connect with your characters. Merry Christmas to all you hold dear, Brett.
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Post by puddlejumper007 on Jan 28, 2017 7:38:02 GMT -6
wow thank you Bret, i just now read this, wonderful follow up. waiting for more as always. sincerly Pat
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Post by bretf on Mar 23, 2017 22:08:20 GMT -6
A Letter from Chad / Carol
“Hey Dad, look at this. Some guy passing through town had it, and since we didn’t know what else to do with it, someone said to let you figure it out,” Glen Camp said as he walked up his father, Russ, and held an envelope out to him. “So what do you think we should do with it?”
Russ was standing over a round of Douglas fir, a splitting maul poised in his hands. His shirt and the cuffs of his gloves were soaked with sweat. A pile of rounds were on one side of him, and a second pile of split wood on the other. Leaning the maul against the block of wood, we took off his cap and wiped his forehead with the back of a gloved hand, adding more sweat to the darkened leather. The weather was unseasonably warm for the end of September, and Russ was glad for it. Spring that year had come late, delaying planting, and setting everything related to the crops back later in the year. And with most of the harvest finally done, it was a race to get the winter’s supply of firewood split and stacked before fall rains came.
Russ put his cap back on, pulled his gloves off, and took the envelope and turned it over in his hands, studying it. The paper had been through some rough treatment. It was hard to see a spot that wasn’t creased and wrinkled. There were stains in various colors, including some Russ was sure were blood. He wouldn’t venture to guess what some of the others were caused by. There was probably quite a story with the envelope, going from who knew where to rest in his hands. The seal was broken, and the contents had undoubtedly been read by at least one person that carried it, probably more. That wasn’t uncommon with the informal postal exchange that took place. Travelers would read anything and everything they could get their hands on. Personal letters were no exception.
On the front of the envelope, the lettering was faded and the ink had run, yet it was still legible. Printed in heavy black letters, was “Sherri Burns, Cambridge Idaho”.
“So what do you think Dad?” Glen asked.
Russ stared at the envelope, lost in thought. His left hand dropped to his pants leg and caressed a spot below the pocket.
“Dad?” Glen asked after a couple of minutes. “What should we do with it?”
Shaken back to the present, Russ said, “I guess we’ll have to read what’s in it and then decide. Your mom and I were just going to take break for a while anyway, so your timing’s perfect. And after we see what this is about, you can swing that maul for a while.”
Linda Camp appeared at that moment from the back of the house, where the well and hand pump were located. She held a tall glass of water in each hand. Her shirt was also dark with sweat from stacking the firewood as Russ split it. “You can share my water honey, I took a long drink back at the pump,” she told her son, and offered the glass to Glen. Holding the other glass out to Russ, she saw the envelope he held. “What do you have there?” she asked.
“I think it’s a letter . . . addressed to Sherri Burns,” Russ said.
Linda was taken aback by the answer, and her hand with the glass stopped, a little water spilling over the top. “Oh . . . well. I wonder who it’s from, and where it came from. Obviously they don’t know about what happened. So what are you going to do with it? Are you going to read it?” she asked.
Russ looked troubled. “I really don’t like reading something meant for someone else, but I think we should, don’t you? It might have something in it that would be important to someone else.”
“Yes, I think you’re right. We should look at it, and because you don’t want to, you’re the perfect person to do it,” Linda said. “Now let’s go have a seat.” She led the way to the front porch and the chairs arranged there.
Russ sat with a heavy sigh, took his cap off and dropped it beside his chair and wiped his forehead with the back of a glove. He pulled the gloves off and dropped them beside the cap and accepted the glass of water from Linda and took a long drink.
Russ set the glass on the porch floor near his cap and gloves, and held the envelope up, looking at it, and sighed heavily again.
“Well go ahead, open it Dad,” Glen said.
Russ shot his son a cross look, and pulled a single, folded sheet of paper out of the envelope. It was nearly as wrinkled and stained as the envelope. He unfolded it and rubbed it across his leg, trying to flatten the wrinkles. Holding the paper up, he moved it farther and farther away from his face until his arm was fully extended and he was squinting at the paper. With a harrumph, he held the paper out to Glen and said, “I can’t make any of this out without glasses. You’ll have read it,” he said.
Glen took the paper, not showing anywhere near the reluctance his dad did about reading a letter addressed to someone else.
“Okay, here goes,” Glen said, and started to read aloud.
“Dear Mother,”
Linda Camp gasped and said, “Oh God, Russ. It must be from Carol. Oh Lord, of course she doesn’t know.” Russ’s lips curled in a frown and his brow wrinkled. He gave a sad shake of his head in response.
Glen raised his eyebrows at his mom and asked, “Can I continue now?”
“Oh, I’m sorry honey. Yes, please continue,” she said.
Glen thought she seemed sorry all right, but about Carol and her mother, not about interrupting, but he didn’t voice his thoughts, and resumed reading.
“Dear Mother, “I can’t believe I’m using that term for you. After the way you betrayed me, and acted like Dad never existed, I swore I’d never use that word toward you. You were dead to me.”
Glen stopped reading and looked from one parent to the other, waiting for his mom to chime in, knowing she would have something to say about what Carol had written.
“Oh Lord, poor Carol,” Linda said.
Russ had a faraway look in his eyes, and absently rubbed his leg, the scars there hidden by his pants. Glen guessed what he was remembering and seeing in his mind. The images of the flames and the screams had haunted him for a long time too. After a couple of minutes of silence, Russ said quietly, “What else does she have to say?”
“But time heals wounds, and being with Chad and having his love and support, I’ve decided to give you another chance. You’re a grandmother now. Chad and I have a wonderful son, named after the wonderful grandpa he’ll never get to meet. John.
“We’ll be starting for home soon. It’s what they call spring here, meaning most, but not all of the winter snow is gone, and buds are coming out. Some people are moving around again. A man is heading in your general direction tomorrow, so I’m writing this for him to carry, just in case it can get though. He’ll move faster than we will.”
“Yeah, looks right you’re right Mom. Carol must’ve written this,” Glen said looking at his mom, and no longer reading. “I wish she’d put a date on it. I’d be curious to know where it came from, and how long it took to get here.”
“Just keep reading please,” Linda said.
Glen grinned at her and read aloud,
“We have a long way to go, with some dangerous areas to go through, or around. Chad is nervous about taking John and I through those places, and we won’t be able to travel fast. So it will still be a long time before we get home. When we finally get there, we’ll be going to Chad’s home. So if you want to see us; me, John, and Chad, you’ll have to come to us. I made the first step, the next will be up to you.”
“And it’s just signed, “Carol”. She didn’t add “love”, or “sincerely”, or anything like that,” Glen said.
Russ stared silently at the paper in Glen’s hand, a look Linda had seen many times in the last year. A minute passed, then another, and another.
Russ stood, favoring his left leg more than he had when they sat down. “We need to get that to Mat and his family when we get the chance. They’ll want to know Chad and Carol are heading this way. Now we better get back to work. That wood isn’t going to split and stack itself.”
Russ walked off the porch rubbing his leg. In his mind, he heard Sherri Burns’ screams and Frank Young’s angry yells and the gunshots. His leg throbbed and he walked as swiftly as he could to the wood pile, hoping the splitting maul slamming into the wood would displace the sounds in his head.
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Post by kaijafon on Mar 23, 2017 23:12:37 GMT -6
oh wow! So glad they are headed home!!! and thank you for the letter!!
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Post by 9idrr on Mar 24, 2017 19:02:43 GMT -6
Every time you post one of these, it's like scratching an itch I hadn't realized was there. It satisfies the itch but leaves me wanting more story. A very welcome and appreciated surprise, sir. Thank you.
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Post by pbbrown0 on Mar 26, 2017 20:39:26 GMT -6
Bret you are a true master writer. Thank you, Thank you, Thank you
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Post by ydderf on Mar 29, 2017 18:55:33 GMT -6
Thanks Bret.
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Post by puddlejumper007 on Apr 2, 2017 6:05:10 GMT -6
Thank you Bret, nice April surprise. pat.
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Post by gipsy on Jun 13, 2017 7:22:12 GMT -6
Thankyou Bret
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Post by udwe on Jun 20, 2017 20:32:21 GMT -6
Bring 'em home safely!
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Post by bretf on Jun 24, 2017 6:45:51 GMT -6
A Letter From Chad, July 4
“Whoa,” Nick Robbins said loudly, and pulled lightly on the reins. He needn’t have applied the pressure on the lines. The team of work horses was well trained to voice commands. Besides, they were ready to stop. Nick had driven them at a trot for a fair amount of the journey from Indian Valley, and they were ready for a rest. Nick handled the lines with practiced ease, despite his relative youth. In his early-twenties, he was more familiar with true horse power than gasoline produced power, some ten years after That Day.
That Day was embedded into the consciousness of all the older people, not so much for those Nick’s age and younger. It was the day the modern world ended. The day Russia and the United States both called “Check Mate” and launched their nuclear missiles. Russia had fired first, though it hadn’t mattered which fired first. Not with those weapons. The early detection system gave the United States missile commanders time to react. And react they did. The majority of two continents were destroyed That Day, and the rest of the world was plunged into a yearlong nuclear winter. The short exchange followed the smallpox pandemic that’d been engineered in Russia and released at the Super Bowl. The rest of the world was affected, nearly as bad as the U.S. and Russia.
Young people like Nick had some rough patches, but adapted easily. Older people like his parents took it harder. They’d had modern conveniences all their lives, and it was tough to do without them. His companion on the wagon, Mat Gomez, though a few years older, had adapted easily as well. His life had been hard, and wasn’t much harder after That Day. His younger sisters, Alison and Brooke, fit in like it was the only life they’d ever known. In private, or with other kids in their age range, they laughed at their elders who always reminisced about the old times, the modern times. Alison, Brooke, and others in their generation had forgotten those times, so had no trouble letting them go.
Nick and Mat stood together on the wagon bed, Nick three inches taller with dark brown hair, and strongly muscled from years of hard work. His muscles weren’t like those of the weightlifters and professional athletes of the past, but the lithe, toned muscles of someone who worked hard every day. But as strong and toned as he was, he wasn’t as imposing as the smaller man beside him. Mat Gomez oozed confident, deadly grace, developed over years of running the rough streets of California’s inner cities, then the villages and mountains of Afghanistan in Uncle Sam’s service.
“So there it is,” Nick said, after the wagon was still and the creaking boards were silenced, and the horse’s blowing breaths had eased. “What do you think?”
He’d stopped the wagon in front of a wreck of a house. Despite the years of neglect, vandalism, and damage from wild fire, the house still displayed some of the grandeur it’d held when it was new. The home had large log beams, some black and singed, and large windows with a view down the river valley. The back half of the building was a charred mass where the range fire had engulfed it, but the steel roof and front remained relatively unscathed.
“Are you sure the owner hasn’t been here?” Mat asked.
Nick looked at him and shook his head. “Yes Mat, I’m sure. This place was built by a dentist from down in the city. He was planning to retire and move here, TEN YEARS AGO. He never made it out when the stuff hit the fan. It was never occupied, except for transients over the years, and not at all that I know of, since that big range fire dang near burned it down three year ago. So, I repeat, what do you think?”
“We could sure use the material, but I’m not a thief,” Mat said.
“Dude, look around you!” Nick stated. “The guy never got out of the city, and the place has been falling apart for years. You won’t get another chance this good.”
Mat pondered the wreck for a while. They really did need building material, if they were going to get a second house built for Chad and Carol. Not that they had any idea when they’d need it, but the last letter they’d received indicated his brother and family were finally coming home. And since That Day, there was no chance of buying building materials at a lumber yard. He studied the building, and made his decision. “All right, let’s salvage what we can,” he said.
“About time you came to your senses,” Nick said, and gave the reins light flip and clucked, starting the team moving. He’d unhitch the wagon close to the house, and hobble the horses to graze while he and Mat worked. Not that there was much to eat, late in the season as it was, but every little bit would help.
Mat hopped off the wagon and studied the home. He especially wanted the steel roofing and windows from it, and after that he’d decide what else to take. Nick would have to determine what they hauled since he was more familiar with the horses, and how heavy a load they could pull.
The home they were building was like his own, as much as possible with the limited resources. His house was built into a south facing hillside, with large windows along the front of it. With the thick earth insulation and southern exposure, it took little to heat in the winter and stayed comfortable in the summer. He couldn’t copy it exactly, but he thought they could capture many of its features.
The wood for the building was already accumulated. He and his father had hewn timbers and lumber from pine and fir trees they’d harvested in the nearby forest. It’d been a long, hard process, completed over a number of years, but they were both confident they’d finally produced enough for the project. Mat hoped so. He didn’t want to pick up his draw knife ever again if he could help it.
The spot for the new house had been excavated, thanks to Nick with the work horses and a fresno. It’d been another, long slow process, a poor substitute for a backhoe. But it was the best they had. Nothing was done quickly, not since That Day. Mat wasn’t looking forward to moving the pile of dirt over the steel roof once it was in place. The horses couldn’t help much with that. Although he longed to see his brother again, his homecoming was sure causing a lot of work. But it would all be worth it. He just wished Chad and Carol would get home sooner rather than later.
Nick stopped the team where he wanted them, and Mat moved over and unhooked the trace chains and then the neckyoke. Nick unhooked the cross reins and both men led a horse to a stand of dead trees. The trees hadn’t lasted long on the dry hillside without irrigation. The men took the harnesses and collars off the horses, but held off on putting the hobbles on them. The horses went to bare spots of dirt, scraped at them a bit with their hooves, then lay down and rolled their sweaty bodies in the dust. When they’d finished and shook, the hobbles were put on them.
“All right, I guess it’s time for us to get hot and sweaty,” Nick said. “Should we start with the roofing?”
“I think so,” Mat said, and took the ladder off the wagon and leaned it against a solid section of remaining wall.”
“So are you sure he’s worth all this work?” Nick asked with a grin as he put on his tool belt.
“I’ve asked myself that quite a few times,” Mat said.
***** Snow flurries obscured the nearby hills when Nick, horseback, materialized. Dan Smoke limped from the goat barn, leaning heavily on his walking stick with one hand, the milk bucket in the other. His damaged leg always gave him more trouble when the weather was cold. “Nick, it’s a lousy day for travel and darned late too. I’m surprised to see you.”
“Yeah, my mom says I don’t have sense enough to come in out of the cold. But I had to come. It would’ve been rude to open this letter I have, since it’s not addressed to me,” he said.
“Well why didn’t you say so?” Dan demanded. “You can put your horse in with the goats and your saddle and bridle in the shed. Now hurry it up, and get in the house.”
Dan hobbled on to the house, glad to get out of the blowing snow. Alison and Brooke, his twin daughters, were in the kitchen area, helping their mom with something. “Girls,” he said, “If your mom can spare you, one of you give Nick a hand with his horse and the other get Mat, Heather, and Hope. Nick brought a letter.”
The girls looked at their mom and she shooed them away. “Hurry, do as your dad says,” she stated. She also dropped what she was working on and got two mugs out. Dan and Nick were sure to want some hot tea. The weather looked dreadful on the other side of the glass. She’d take care of the milk later.
Soon, the entire family and Nick were settled in the living room area, and Nick handed the letter to Heather. She did a better job of reading the letters out loud without getting emotional. She slit the top of the wrinkled envelope, extracted note book paper and read:
Hey everyone,
I hope all is well at home. I’m not sure if you got my other letters telling you we were coming home, but we are, rather we were. We started for home a few months ago, but didn’t get all that far. We heard of some bad areas ahead of us, so we turned south to bypass them. We started out fine, making good time. Over the winter, I got a weather goat and a bike cart. I worked on the cart so I could hook it up to the goat and trained him to pull it. The tires and tubes were rotten, so I found some hydraulic hose and wired it to the rims to replace them. It’s fine for slow travel with the goat, but I’m glad I’m not pulling it with a bike. But we won’t have to worry about flats now.
So we put most of our gear in the cart, and John a lot of the time, though he liked to walk and run along with us too. The goat and trailer were a great help and we made good time and John held up well to the travel. Then I noticed Carol was having more problems than in the past. She finally told me she was pregnant and was having a lot of nausea and sickness with it. She didn’t want to tell me before, because she knew how much I want to get home.
“She’s pregnant again, huh,” Mat said. “Well, in that one letter, he told us it was cold back there. I guess they figured out a way to stay warm.”
“Mat!” Heather scolded, and elbowed him in the side.
“Oh God,” Lisa said. “Carol must have had the baby by now. Oh God, I hope they were somewhere safe, and not traveling.”
“Maybe he’ll address that,” Heather said. “Let me read more.” She flashed a scowl at Mat before she started.
We made it to a town where there’s a doctor, and we got her checked out. He thinks she’s carrying twins. How about that, more twins in the family. But he recommended we stop traveling, that the strain and unreliable meals were too much on her. So we’re stopped again. I’d rather keep on the road, but oh well, it’s seems to be a nice town.
We’ll stay here until the baby or babies are born. It’ll be late enough in the year by then, we’ll most likely have to stay here until spring. That should give Carol and the little one(s) time enough to get strong enough to travel again.
“Hopefully it’ll be a milder winter, so they don’t need to take another long break next summer,” Nick said, and winked at Mat. He felt safe enough to say it, being out of range of Heather’s elbows.
He may have been out of range of her elbow, but not the glare she shot at him before she started reading again.
Yesterday was the 4th of July, happy Fourth by the way, and they still celebrate it here, kind of like back at home. There were a number of veterans that pulled their old uniforms out of wherever they keep them and gave speeches. Then there were games and contests in the park. I can’t remember them all, but there were sack races . . .
Heather quit reading at a loud sob from Lisa. Tears were streaming down her face and she pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose.
“Mom, are you crying because there might be more twins in the family?” Alison asked.
“We aren’t that bad, are we,” Brooke added.
“No,” their mom sniffed. “I’m crying because they stopped somewhere safe, with a doctor. I should be a grandmother again by now. And I’ve never seen or held any of my grandbabies. I’ll be an old lady before I ever get to hold one.”
“But Mom, you –” Brooke got out before Alison shoved her.
“DON’T say what you were about to say!” Alison hissed to her sister.
Ignoring her daughters, Lisa added, “And he said it was July 4th. That means the day before was his birthday. He should’ve turned twenty two that day.” she wiped her nose again.
“Remember that first Fourth we went to in town, and Chad’s birthday?” Mat asked. “He was pretty embarrassed when John Burns and his group did “Happy Birthday”, and then John got him to sit in with them to play.” Mat looked thoughtful for a moment, and added, “But I think he enjoyed the gift Carol gave him, a lot.”
“What gift? I don’t remember her giving him anything,” Heather said.
Mat laughed and said, “You didn’t see him stumble up the steps onto the Camp’s front porch with the goofiest look I’ve ever seen on his face. Carol kissed him that night for the first time.”
“Yep, he was quite the mental case after that,” Nick added.
“Oh, that’s right,” Heather said. “That was a night of firsts for him, playing music in front of a group, first time with a guitar, and Carol. Wow.”
Lisa sniffed, and said, “That’s when we first met Carol.” As the adults recalled their memories of the event, it was quiet for several minutes before Lisa said, “You can read more now.”
“Okay, where was I?” Heather asked, scanning the paper. “Oh yeah, here we are.”
There were games and contests in the park. I can’t remember them all, but there were sack races, three legged races, tug of war contests. There were baseball games. They had a horseshoe contest and a lot of other games. Then there was a big barbecue and music and dancing. I got to play and Carol sang. It was almost like being home again. But it wasn’t, no matter how much I wish otherwise.
So it’ll be some time before we start for home again. I guess in the meantime, I better figure out a way to make the goat trailer bigger.
We love you and miss you, and hope to be home next fall. Chad, Carol, and John.
Lisa was crying more than before and fell against Dan’s shoulder and sobbed.
Heather wanted them to have a bit of time to themselves, so she heaved herself to her feet and pulled Mat after her. “Come on girls, let’s get supper together. Nick, are you staying?”
They left Dan and Lisa there together. When they were in the kitchen area, Mat looked at Nick and grinned. “I’m glad we haven’t finished the inside of the new house yet. It sounds like we need to plan another bedroom into it, maybe more before they get here.” He winked at Heather and patted her large, expanded abdomen.
I wish everyone a safe and enjoyable Independence Day! Bret
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Post by kaijafon on Jun 24, 2017 7:42:52 GMT -6
Always good to hear from Chad!!! thanks so much
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Post by 9idrr on Jun 24, 2017 18:10:38 GMT -6
Well, Bret, I don't know what we've done to deserve this gift, but please let us know so we can do it again. Your posts are always welcome events. Thank you very much.
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Post by pbbrown0 on Jun 25, 2017 15:55:11 GMT -6
Thank you, Bret. We always love your Letters from Chad.
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Post by bretf on Sept 26, 2017 7:59:41 GMT -6
It’s been tough getting time to work on this, but here it is.
A Letter From Chad
All right, just a few more minutes, the man called Bob said to himself. He remained still, despite the stick poking his side and the ants crawling over him. Patience, he told himself, just be still and patient and you’ll win the prize. He was peering through the scope of his rifle at two figures approaching on the road. He’d detected them several minutes earlier when they were small in the distance. As they approached, he decided one was certainly a man, and judging by the stature, the other was either a youth or a woman. The man was pulling an odd cart. That was a good sign, and Bob was curious to find out what was in it.
Bob wasn’t the man’s given name. It was a name he’d acquired after their country had gone to crap following the pandemic and the short and efficient nuclear war with Russia. Someone had pinned the name on him because he was a nomad, a man who bobbed from one place to another, never staying long. The name was short, easy to remember and without baggage. Not that he expected to find anyone who knew his real name and past, but you never knew. He’d never expected to live through a nuclear war either, so better to be safe. Thus, he was Bob in the new world.
There were few travelers in the region, and most of those travelled under cover of darkness. To travel in the daylight on the open roads was foolhardy, and was a good recipe to end up dead. But there those two were. The silent watcher mentally chuckled. They appeared to be more than the regular vagabonds if they had enough wealth to carry it in a cart. And in a few minutes he planned on finding out what it was.
The still of the day was shattered by the rifle shot. It hit the traveler square in the chest and he fell instantly. The fallen man’s companion froze, wide eyed at the sight, making an easy target for the second shot. Bob remained in place for several more minutes watching for further movement before extricating himself from his blind. He walked slowly down the hill, alert for any noise. He didn’t think there was anyone else near who would come and investigate, but he stayed wary in case there were. His wariness had paid off more than once and had allowed him live longer than many in this screwed up world. Once he reached the fallen people, he picked up the pace. He wanted off the open road. He threw the man across the cart and pulled it down an embankment into a thicket of brush. The body fell off the cart just inside the thicket, but Bob forced the cart deeper into it, to a clear pocket. Hurrying back to the road, he grabbed the smaller body and dragged it near the cart. The long brown hair fell away from the face, reveling heavily pock marked features. Bob was sure they were old since he hadn’t heard of a new outbreak of the disease in at least two years. He stopped to catch his breath, breathing hard from the efforts. When his breathing was under control, he stood still, listening. If anyone was drawn by the gunfire, they’d easily find where he’d gone, but at least he wasn’t out in the open. He didn’t plan on spending any more time there than he had to though.
Not hearing anything, or anyone coming his way, Bob walked to the man’s body. The man was young and carrying an assault rifle. That would be worth keeping, at least if he had ammo to go with it, although it hadn’t done him any good. Reaching down to grab his arm to pull him to the cleared pocket, he froze at a sound from behind him. Some sort of cry had come from the cart. Was there something alive in it? Was it a child?
Bob stood still and listened, unsure if he’d heard right. He didn’t hear the crying sound, but he heard something else that set his heart beating faster; the metallic sound as horse’s shod hooves hit the paved road, several of them. Bob knew he had to move, fast. While the brush concealed him, it didn’t offer cover or even a good spot to defend himself. If the riders came after him, they’d take him with ease.
Quickly going through the man’s pockets and pulling the 9mm pistol of his belt, Bob threw the contents into his pack. Flies were already buzzing around the blood and the man’s odor was rank, his body losing more bodily fluids than just blood. It was another reason to get out of there.
He hurried to the second body. It was also attracting flies and emitting rank odors. Bob noted it was a young woman. There were no regrets at killing her. She wasn’t the first, far from it, and would undoubtedly not be the last. But he did regret not being able to take his time killing her like he used to do with those prostitutes. He especially liked making the scream, and now there was no one to throw him back into a stinking prison. But it wasn’t to be. He stuffed her possessions into his pack and shouldered the pack and both rifles.
The cart had two long handles attached to it, and he knelt between them and stood. He cussed silently at the noise it made as he pulled it through the brush. It sounded loud, too loud to him but hopefully the sound of the horses would cover it. Beyond the brush was a rock landscape and he went across it, avoiding dirt areas as best he could, trying not to leave a trail. It would be nice to go back and conceal any sign he did leave but there just wasn’t time.
Bob crossed the rocks, then paused, listening. The riders were closer, though he still had time, but was it enough? He’d holed up the past few days in a shallow cave and decided if he hurried, he could get to it before the riders were at the site of the ambush. Once in the cave, he’d have cover and be in a defensible position. It was imperative he make in time.
Bob was panting hard as he dragged the cart over the rocks he’d piled near the cave’s entrance. The sound came again from the cart, but he couldn’t tell what it was over his labored breathing. There’d be time to check it out later. For now, it needed out of his way and he needed to be ready to fight if the horsemen came after him.
Bob lay down on the ground behind the pile of rocks and extended his rifle barrel through the opening he’d left for that purpose. From his position, he could just see the tops of the riders’ heads, but no more. They stopped at the place he’d ambushed the couple and looked around. Only catching snatches of what they said, it seemed to him they were arguing about what to do. He thought one wanted to follow the trail into the brush, but if Bob heard right, the others were against it. There was a noise from the cart behind him, but Bob remained focused on the riders, neither turning nor trying to determine what might have made it. It could wait; it had to wait.
After an interminable wait, and raised voices by the riders, they continued down the road. Bob watched them, briefly considering adding them to the day’s tally. He decided against it. On horseback, one could easily escape and return with more men than he could face. It was better to let them go on their way, though he wouldn’t mind having a horse to ride. But it was alright. He knew he’d eventually find a single rider.
Wanting to make sure the riders weren’t pulling a ruse, he stayed in place for two more hours, watching. Patience had paid off for him more than once, so he lay there motionless, watching. Finally, stiff from being in one place for so long, he moved. It was time to see what he’d gotten for his labor, starting with the cart and whatever made those noises.
Pulling the cover back carefully, he peered inside, then grinned. At hearing the noises, he’d wondered if there was a brat in the cart, but there wasn’t. It was something much better. The grin turned into a broad smile. A cat was nestled on a laid out coat, with four kittens nursing. Those cats just may be worth more than the man’s assault rifle to the right people. Mice and rats were always a problem, worse than they’d been before the modern world ended. Grain and stored food were more precious than ever and it was a constant battle keeping rodents out of it. Bob could think of a compound not far away that would treat him royally for those cats.
Looking past the cats, Bob saw clothing. It all appeared to be rough home spun fabric, as most people wore nowadays. The factory made clothing of the past was becoming rarer and rarer, and what was still seen was as holy as some of the pants women used to pay high dollar for. Opposite the clothing were two bulging water bladders, again, of the modern style. One, the larger of the two was made from a cow’s bladder. The smaller one had most likely come from a sheep. He raised them one at a time and checked them. Each contained water. Bob pulled a cloth bag free of the cart and looked in it. Jackpot, he thought. It was full of dried meat strips, fruit and vegetable chunks. Trying not to disturb the nursing kittens, he looked around further, but didn’t see anything of value, especially ammunition. Reaching his hands under the coat the cat was stretched out on, he felt another bladder. “Probably more water,” he muttered, but pulled it out anyway.
After testing the contents, he smiled broader than he had at discovering the cats. He tilted his head back, and drank deeply of the wine it contained. It wasn’t the best he’d ever had, but it certainly wasn’t the worst either. He took another long drink and studied the cart. All in all, it was a decent take, worth the expenditure of two bullets. Whatever the couple had on their persons would be a bonus.
A flat rock was against one wall of the cave’s entrance that Bob had used before to keep watch. He carried his pack to it, arranged his coat, and sat on it with his back against the stone wall. Following another drink of the wine, he opened his pack to see what he had.
The first item he pulled out was a leather packet, tied with a thong. Bob untied the thong and rolled it open. Needles, loops of fine string, an awl and a short knife were inside. It was the woman’s sewing kit. Bob decided it might be worth keeping.
The next packet held flint and steel, and tinder. It could be traded. Bob had his own fire kit and didn’t see any need to carry two. Another packet held a fishing kit. Again, Bob thought he’d trade it. Providing his own food could be hard work. It was easier to take what he wanted, or trade for it if he had to.
Pulling the man’s pistol from the pack, he turned it over admiringly. It was a keeper, a Browning Hi Power 9mm. It was much nicer than the Taurus he carried. Regrettably, Bob hadn’t found a spare magazine, and only a handful of rounds for it in the man’s pockets. There was a nice knife, a full magazine for the AK 47 and a bundle of papers, and nothing else. Bob took another pull from the wineskin and untied the thong from the papers. It appeared to be a packet of letters.
An unofficial mail service had grown out of the ashes of the destroyed country. Travelers often carried letters from town to town. Many more letters were sent than ever reached their destination.
Bob opened the first letter, and squinted at it. The writer had horrible penmanship and grammar. What Bob got out of the letter, the man was trying to find a lost relative. “Good luck with that,” Bob muttered, then added, “I needed more fire starter, and this’s a good start.” He dropped it beside him. There were more of the same, and a couple with general greetings to the relatives, saying they missed them.
He was down to the last letter as light was fading in the sky. He nearly added it to his pile of fire starting paper, but changed his mind. He might as well read it before he burned it. Who knew, there might be something in it he could profit from.
The front of the paper had “Smoke – Gomez, Indian Valley Idaho” written in large letters. Unfolding the paper, Bob read,
Hi Everyone. Hopefully this reaches you. A couple we met were headed for Oregon so it seemed like a good opportunity to write. There are some trouble spots the direction they planned to go, but hopefully it’ll get through to you. We were skirting those bad spots when we had to stop. I don’t know if any of the letters got to you, but John has a little sister now. We named her Faith. (You know, now there’s Hope and Faith.) I can’t wait for you all to meet both kids.
We’re in northern New Mexico now, in a place called Philmont. If you check your map, it’s between Raton and Taos, where the plains meet the mountains. Before That Day and the pandemic, it was a Boy Scout Ranch that was also a working ranch. The man that gave it to them insisted they keep it as a working ranch. So anyway, when everything happened, the place had cattle, horses and buffalo there, as well as deer, antelope, and elk. They had tent encampments for hundreds of people at a time. When so much was destroyed, a lot of people migrated here. They figured it’d be a good place to live and most of them had a lot of the training and skills to pull it off. Over the years, they’ve put solid structures and bunkhouses up in place of the tents. It’s a thriving community now, with about everything we could want.
Talk about crazy weather here. It might be a long way south of home, but winter is harsher, and late in the summer, there were crazy thunderstorms. It’s supposed to be semi-desert here, but we’ve seen more rain in an afternoon than we get at home in a month. But there are good people and it’s been a decent place to stay.
However, we’re determined to get home next summer or fall. If things go well, we’re pretty sure we can make it. Hopefully Faith will travel well. We just have to have faith.
Well, we have to finish. Our friends are ready to leave. We love you and miss you. Chad, Carol, John and Faith.
“Well wasn’t that sweet,” Bob snorted and added the letter to his stack of fire starter. He stood and walked a few feet away and relieved himself. The wineskin was nearly empty and he didn’t want to eat anything and mess with the feeling of bliss he’d attained. But he should give the cat food and water. She was too valuable not to.
After the cat was taken care of and the remainder of the wine drank. Bob stretched out in his bed. He was asleep in moments in alcoholic slumber.
Bob jerked awake in a sweat, the dream setting him in a panic. He’d been back in the cell on death row, the eight foot by eight foot cage tight around him. Just like the danged hole in the rock where he’d slept. He stumbled out into the night air, away from it. He had to get away and get some open space around him. Out of his bed, it was cold, and he started to shake in no time. He looked back at the darkness that was the cave, not wanting to go back. But he had to, otherwise he’d freeze. Forcing one foot in front of the other as he had so many times returning to his cell. We went back to his bed.
He lay there unable to sleep, and recalled the final letter. It wasn’t too far to New Mexico and that Philmont place. The more he thought about it, he decided it held good possibilities. He just had to have faith. He grinned and told himself, “Yep, I have faith a change of scenery has a lot of possibilities.” He’d start out early the next morning.
Bob fell asleep, content with his decision.
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Post by cutter on Sept 26, 2017 16:12:03 GMT -6
Sorry I didn't realize this was still an active thread or your storytelling was still going strong. I loved Ashen Horse. The Letters from Chad are just a perfect way to carry on. I just got caught up on them and am eagerly awaiting the next. Thanks for your hard work and sharing your talent.
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Post by freebirde on Sept 26, 2017 16:15:29 GMT -6
I hope someone recognizes the cat or the weapons as soon as he gets there.
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Post by 9idrr on Sept 26, 2017 16:17:37 GMT -6
Thank you for continuing this. Better'n a Xmas present.
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Post by bretf on Sept 27, 2017 6:25:03 GMT -6
Hey guys, thanks. Sorry I didn't realize this was still an active thread or your storytelling was still going strong. I loved Ashen Horse. The Letters from Chad are just a perfect way to carry on. I just got caught up on them and am eagerly awaiting the next. Thanks for your hard work and sharing your talent. Cutter, it’s kind of active, but not very. As I neared the end of The Ashen Horse, life happened and my time for writing evaporated. While I wanted to continue writing, it wasn’t going to be possible, at least to be consistent with updates. So I came up with this idea to put short updates out every once in a while, updates that could stand alone from the main story. Who knows, maybe someday I can tie them together or use them for a launching pad for a new, longer story. (I see possibilities with “Bob”) Anyway, thanks, I appreciate it.
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